


It Won't Be A Stylish Marriage

by streetsuss_serenade



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 06:53:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15880833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/streetsuss_serenade/pseuds/streetsuss_serenade
Summary: A short story about how, sometimes, a wedding can be two people and a really excellent playlist.





	It Won't Be A Stylish Marriage

**Author's Note:**

> Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do, for I'm half crazy, all for the love of you.

“Homes, I’m just saying that if I want to fuck up my own brain by bashing it on concrete, I should be able to and the state getting involved and legally requiring me to wear a helmet is infringing on my rights. The freedom to wreck your own fucking melon is implicitly protected by the constitution. Oh, fuck, since we’re talking about the state sticking its nose in where it has no fucking business in the first place, do you have any interest in making this bitch official now that it’s legal?”

Nate paused with a t-shirt halfway folded. “Did you just propose to me?”

“Don’t be a pussy. I just want to know if you want to have legal rights to my excellent CD collection should I happen to kick it biking to work one of these days.”

“I thought that was going to Brad so that you could do in death what you could never accomplish in life, namely, improve his terrible taste in music.”

Ray flapped the socks he was matching dismissively. “You can share custody, although I’ve mostly given up on that asshole. Do you know that he told me the other day that he thinks that Bon Jovi…”

“Ray,” Nate said solemnly, “I would be happy to make this bitch official with you.”

Ray’s face twisted into a smile, which he tried to hide by throwing the socks at Nate’s face.

~  
It turned out they both had to go in person pick up the marriage license, which Ray found out the hard way after showing up at the courthouse wearing a shirt that said “Muscle Up, Buttercup,” since the courthouse was right by his gym.

Nate’s ridiculous work schedule held things up for a few weeks, but on a rainy Tuesday in March, he managed to block off an entire afternoon and meet Ray at the courthouse with his birth certificate.

The process was remarkably mundane. They stood on the scuffed carpet, no marble in the offices, they kept that fanciness out front for the judges, in line with folks who needed property deeds and replacement birth certificates. Under miserable fluorescent lights, Ray’s toes looked like worms in his flip-flops as he wiggled them.

After the very bored clerk did a cursory search to make sure neither of them was married, and after they swore that they weren’t, as far as they knew, related (Ray could hear Brad laughing 1000 miles away) they walked out of there with a white envelope containing one plain, typewritten, sheet of paper. 

They sat at the bar at a restaurant around the counter from their apartment, drinking beer, even though it was early. The envelope sat on the counter between them, like a talisman. Nate kept reaching out and touching the closest corner. Ray watched his long, delicate fingers push and fidget. When Nate caught Ray watching, he dropped his hands into his lap, which made Ray laugh. Everything made Ray laugh that afternoon until he gave up trying to hide it and grabbed Nate’s hand and dragged him home.  
~  
On the day of their wedding, their morning routine didn’t differ from any other day. Nate got up early to go for a run and answer some emails, and Ray set his alarm for the minimum amount of time necessary to shower and throw coffee in a travel mug. 

“Is this shirt okay?” Ray asked as Nate pulled out of their parking spot to battle Saturday morning sightseers on the way to the courthouse. 

Without looking over, Nate said, “You know I don’t give two shits about what you wear.”

“Yeah, but you’re going to be fucking thinking about this morning for the rest of my life or whatever, that’s a lot of pressure to put on a shirt.”

“Ray,” Nate said, more gently this time, “I ..wait, why did you turn off NPR? I wanted to hear the traffic report.”

Ray pressed play on the CD he’d put into the player. “Don’t make a big thing about it, but I made us a mix to listen to on the drive.”

“Don’t make a thing about it? You’re the one who made a playlist.”

Ray made a face, “Shut up.”

“It’s okay. We will have plenty of time to listen to it because I couldn’t resist the urge to make a big deal if it either.”

“Oh no, what did you do?”

Nate grinned. “I might have booked us a trip for the rest of the weekend.”

“Oh, you sappy motherfucker!” Ray cried, “That’s way worse than a playlist!”

He craned over his shoulder and caught sight of the bags Nate had placed on the backseat.

“You packed for me? Dude. Haven’t you heard? Unilateral decisions are out. Inviting your betrothed into the planning of your sad-ass romantic getaway is de rigueur.” Ray slurred the French as much as possible.

“Since when do either of us care what other people do?” Nate said, “besides, I didn’t plan us a romantic getaway. We’re going to Ohio to ride some roller coasters.”

“We’re going to Cedar Point?!” Ray bounced in his seat. “ _Motherfucker._ I knew I was marrying you for something other than your fantastic ass.” He crossed his second-best sneakers on the dashboard, and began tapping out the beat on his thigh. “A wedding and rollercoasters? I should have made a better playlist.”

~  
When it was their turn to be married, two court personnel stood in as witnesses. Sunlight glinted on polished wood and highlighted the dust kicked into the air when the clerk shuffled papers. Ray bounced on the balls of his feet when Nate spoke the words that had been repeated by thousands across generations, making legal what had been decided between them years ago. When it was his turn, Ray punctuated his promises with a hearty wink, which made Nate laugh. 

Sunlight, laughter, and rollercoasters. Few people could ask for a better start to a life together. And these two had a kick-ass playlist waiting for them to top it off.


End file.
